Farting on the Road to CopenhagenPosted: June 17, 2012
She was a fresh, new and nicely appointed Volvo with less than 300 miles. Oh, and supple white leather seats.
I get to call her a she because estrogen wreaks havoc on my life and I am the author of this story.
It happened while on the road. Specifically on the road to Copenhagen. I don’t speak a lick of Swedish, even less Danish, but I am pretty damn sure of it. I did some checking and my best friend who traveled the road with me is most certain of it.
Here is the vehicle before the incident(s).
I farted on the road to Copenhagen.
Now, I should have blamed it on the otherworldly number of cyclists we encountered along the way. It would have worked too because they were always coming out of nowhere and their not-so-subtle cattiness would have made them obvious targets. Here is one making questionable gestures behind our backs.
The starting place was Gothenburg. The destination: Copenhagen and back in 36 hours. The route was the E6 South to Malmo and across a long-ass bridge over not-so-troubled water.
There was also a lot of good food along the way and more than my fair share of wine which could have been part of it. I might have blamed it on my friend – featured here by warm candlelight and near copious amounts of alcohol. However, no one would have believed it because everyone knows she is much more of a lady than I.
It happened again here in this small town along the Swedish coast. But, she was unaware due to her back being turned in this Enya-should-be-playing-right-now moment and there was also an adequate breeze to quickly dissipate any lingering after effects.
It also happened here along with a quick shift to Danish. Damn, just when I was getting good at the Swedish.
The last time it happened was right before we got lost in the streets of Copenhagen. After numerous wrong turns and glaring from the locals, we finally made our way to this lovely fountain in the heart of town to snap this touristy photo for future generations to enjoy.
Later, while stumbling around the streets of Copenhagen (at a time frowned upon for a pair of middle-aged ladies with four kids between us) we saw it again.
That word again – fart. We saw it everywhere. In different forms, like in a “root word” kinda way. Like I said at the beginning, I don’t know a lick of Swedish, even less Danish. And did we bring a handy phrasebook? Of course not, phrase books are for amateurs and we are seasoned travelers. However, we did learn later that in Danish and in this particular form “utfart” means “exit.”
NO EXIT. That would have been handy to know. For we took countless exits along the road to Copenhagen. Perhaps some were legal, some not so much.
All this took place from start to finish over a long weekend. A whirlwind road trip across a small part of Northern Europe with a treasured friend. I got to be the Thelma to her Louise (now to say this in Danish) because of a little glitch which kept her husband from enjoying this trip himself. After all, she was his car.
Many weeks have gone by since I farted on and off the road to Copenhagen, and today, the gently used Volvo arrived for pickup in sunny Florida.
I hope he enjoys his new car cause we certainly did. Next time we drive about in a foreign country, we might consider a phrasebook or at least review some basic driving tips. No matter, we made lots of great memories on the road to Copenhagen, but perhaps we should just keep the farting thing to ourselves.